


Sweet Dreams

by orphan_account



Category: American Gods (TV)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, MadWife if you squint, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 13:40:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14058162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: An interlude between Laura and Sweeney that slightly alters the ending to episode 8. Or, Laura loses her sh*t so she steals some from Mad Sweeney when she beats it out of him.





	Sweet Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> This being my first story for this fandom, I'm still getting a feel for the personalities and dynamic of the characters. If they seem OOC in any way, or if anyone has any critiques or suggestions, please let me know. Thanks. ✌

“Personally? You think I shouldn’t take this personally?” Laura grabbed Sweeney’s neck and sank her fingernails into his jaw. He gulped and closed his eyes. His face reddened as his air supply was constricted. Though he knew it was futile, he gripped her arm and tried to pull out of her hold.

Laura released him. Sweeney coughed, his lungs burning as he breathed in. He tried to move away from her, but couldn’t. Pinned between the wall and a vengeful revenant, he was completely at her mercy.

She watched blankly as he panted and wheezed. Sweeney opened his eyes, the bright golden-brown orbs reminding her of a sad puppy. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to the bruises she’d left on his neck, the bloody half-moon prints her nails had made.

Sweeney grunted and shifted beneath her. “If you’re gonna kill me, Dead Wife, fucking get on with it! Why show me any pity now?”

By way of answer, Laura slapped him across the face, hitting him so hard she gave him whiplash. His head jolted to the right, Sweeney’s vision briefly darkened. The imprint of her hand marked his cheek, nearly as red as his hair.

He blinked rapidly and swore vehemently in Gaelic. “English, Ginger,” Laura cupped his cheek in her palm. With her other hand, she tugged on his beard. Sweeney grunted, but the pain helped him focus. 

In the brief time of their acquaintance, he had suffered a concussion, broken bones, and - mere moments ago - very nearly busted balls at her hands. Should he pass out from a mere slap to the face, it would be a mortification he wasn’t sure he could bear.

“If you’re gonna sit there and fucking insult me, use words I can understand.” Her breath smelt of decay, a nauseous blend of roadkill and rotting fruit. She turned her head to bite his ear, sinking her teeth into the lobe until he yelped.

“F-fine! I’ll tell ya, you stupid cunt! That’s basically what I was sayin’ anyway, all about how you’re a cruel, selfish bitch who -”

She head-butted him, and Sweeney blacked out for a moment. Laura took a handful of his lank red hair and yanked it, dragging him yelping and whimpering into consciousness.

Laura frowned at his pained and panicked expression. She patted his cheek awkwardly and kissed the darkening bruise she’d made on his forehead. She could not reconcile her conflicted feelings. She wanted to punish him, and she wanted to pardon him, to coddle and comfort him as if he were a child.

“...who, just the day before her man was due to come home from prison, had her mouth wrapped around -” Sweeney kept talking, as if he’d never been interrupted. Until he was, yet again, when Laura clenched her fingers into a fist and punched him in the stomach.

The air in his lungs was forcefully expelled with a rapid whoosh. The sound reminded Laura of a time when she’d been stranded at the side of the road, after all four tires were blown out. Because, sure, why not leave a two by four covered in upturned nails in the middle of the highway?

She’d pulled the punch, but the force of the blow to his stomach caused Sweeney’s body to smash through the wall. He groaned harshly, lacking the strength and the oxygen to scream. Laura held the collar of his shirt and pulled him up, none too gently.

She let go and watched impassively as he crumpled to the ground, the top of his head caked with blood and drywall dust. Laura sat down behind him and rearranged him so that he was lying on his back, his head cradled in her lap.

He’d passed out again. Laura shook him by the shoulder, but he didn’t wake up. “C’mon,” she urged, slapping his cheek. “Wake up, Ginger Minge. You haven’t finished telling me what a cunt I am, what kind of a _hoor_ and a homewrecker.”

Still nothing. Laura held a finger under his nostrils and felt a faint rush of air. “Hey!” she said louder, slapping his cheek again. “Get up, I’ve got shit to do. This not the time or place for you to take a nap.”

She pulled his shirt up. The fist-sized bruise in the middle of his stomach was such a dark shade of purple it was almost black. Laura traced a circle around the bruise. Sweeney trembled and moaned, but did not open his eyes. She pushed a finger into the center, gradually exerting more pressure until he woke, gasping and coughing.

“Dead…Wife…” he moaned and – knowing it was pointless – took hold of her wrist. “You…proved your point. S-stop…please… _Laura!_ ”

Her name broke the spell. The grief and rage toward Wednesday that she’d misdirected onto Sweeney evaporated. In its place, she felt sympathy and shame.

She easily pulled out of Sweeney’s hold and pulled the shirt down to cover his wrecked abdomen. She leaned down and pressed her forehead against his. Sweeney felt drops of moisture brush his skin, heard her sniffle and whimper.

“I’m sorry,” she said simply. “Sweeney, I am so sorry.”

“It’s…nothing,” he murmured, his voice slow and slurred. “You only…gave me what I deserved.”

“No,” Laura said. “No…I gave you what he deserves.” Her voice hardened. She carefully lifted Sweeney’s head off her lap and lay it on the floor. She stood and walked away. Sweeney’s heart sank. He’d always known that she would leave, sooner or later. So much for him getting his lucky coin back.

The moment he thought that, Laura returned. “Here –” she leaned down and lifted his head again. When she lowered it, Sweeney was relieved to feel the touch of a soft cushion.

“It’s satin,” Laura explained. “A pink satin throw pillow. It’s really girly, but I doubt you give a shit.” Sweeney laughed hoarsely, grunting at the pain it caused as his stomach shook.

“Easy,” Laura chided and clucked her tongue. “I know you want to come with me, Ginger - Sweeney, - but you can’t in this condition. I guess I nearly beat your ass to death. Sorry…I really fucked up, didn’t I?”

Sweeney chuckled, his vision growing dark as unconsciousness came to claim him. Laura crouched down and kissed him, tasting blood. “Rest up,” she murmured. “I’ll see you again soon. Until then, sweet dreams, Sweeney.”


End file.
